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Kinship - Wallowing Along



We have now been sailing for 3 days. The start of the rally found most of the 25 yachts motor-sailing across the starting line in calm winds and seas. But as we rounded Jost Van Dyke to starboard & poked our bowsprit into the great Atlantic, Kinship's sails bellied with the moderate breeze, and though the winds weren't as feisty as we would have liked for a fast passage, they were in the 7 knot range--a force adequate to propel our moderate displacement performance cruiser. That first glorious night found us gliding like a giant lunar moth in the light of the full moon. Life was good.

But what nature giveth, nature taketh away, and with each passing hour, the wind lessened until mid-morning, when the sails slatted with the last sigh & the wind held her breath. Shuffling along at 2 knots, we were boldly going nowhere. And with 800 miles to go, it was a sobering thought. With the ARC finish line due to close in 6 days, there was a moderate urgency to arrive Bermuda in time to at least buy another egg or two & refuel for the Atlantic crossing...not to mention enjoy Bermuda & the rally festivities that ARC Europe is famous for.

Wallowing along was not a realistic option. So we reluctantly cranked up the diesel--hoping to catch some wind further north. In sailing, the sails represent the hopeful side of the sport; the diesel engine, however, is often the reality.

Except for an occasional puff that suckled the sails for a few hours, we motored most of the second day and the third, the engine thrumming along--thwickety-twack, thwickety-twack, thwack-tic--in iambic pentameter, as we plowed the sea from horizon to horizon to horizon.

There is an old tradition that whistling will arouse Eurus, the Greek god of the southeast wind. We took turns whistling various tunes, but no wind was to be had. Eurus, we concluded must be napping.

We then recalled that the gods had given Odysseus a leather pouch filled with wind to use wisely as needed. But alas, the Olympian gods of ARC Europe had failed to include such swag in our bag of goodies. A pouch of fresh southeasterly winds would surely have been infinitely preferable to a floating fish key-fob or a beer cozie.

But it wasn't all bad. Without the need to fight gravity on a heel, our 2 empresses of the sewing needles hand-stitched the ripped seam in the bimini, and with our cornucopia of provision, we dined royally on curried chicken, pork cutlets, pasta & various salads. Our circle of horizons provided uninterrupted vistas of Fourth of July blue skies, white puffy clouds & red sunsets. Flying fish occasionally rippled the blue mirror of a sea & whales put on an impressive display breaching the surface & flopping over in huge sprays of white. The sun even graced us with a spectacular green flash the third day out. Just nature & us, and, of course, the diesel engine.






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